Throwback to '89

Friday was a hectic day.  And I mean, not just the regular stuff.  Scott and I bought a new car, and while we were signing the papers, the Paris attacks were happening.  We were getting updates from Trajan and my mom, as well as dozens of texts asking if our family members were safe.  We were the easiest car customers ever.  We basically had time to race to the dealership, point to the car we wanted, look under the hood and pretend to know stuff, and promise to return two hours later on the way to guitar to claim our new ride.

Rand's Auto was incredibly efficient, and also understanding when I kept gasping and tearing up whilst signing the paperwork, as whatsapps kept coming in like this one:  "They're shooting the hostages one by one."  I couldn't even wrap my head around the juxtaposition of the mayhem and tragedy, and the spotless new car I was driving off the lot alone, Scott and Ruby having gone to her lesson.

Knowing my family was safe, I had to put aside the ongoing events in Paris as I picked up Freestone at ballet.  He didn't recognize me in the new car!  I wanted it to be fun and exciting for the kids, even as my heart was broken for the hostages that had just been shot.  I dropped Freestone off at his campout with his sleeping bag and took Xanthe and Jade to their Chinese playgroup.  On our old van, the rear passenger door doesn't open, and if it does, it won't close, and if it closes, it still thinks it's open, so a buzzer continuously whines.  When Xanthe went to get in the new car, she clarified, "Does this door open?  Which doors open?"  Sad!  But not so sad.  Old cars are the least of people's problems, and I've been happy to drive my Odyssey.  It's a member of the family.  But it's kinda gotten like Mephisto, the cat I grew up with.  At 18 years old, Mephisto was blind, deaf, incontinent, weighed two pounds, and was schizophrenic about whether he wanted to be petted or take a bite out of your hand.  That kind of member of the family.  I never knew when the van was going to come up with a new flashing warning light or another door that refused to close.

At the end of this nightmare/celebratory day loomed an island of respite:  Mike and Sarah hosted a long-overdue gathering of our high school friends.  These are people I have spent countless hours with, mostly doing absolutely nothing.  Some of them are people whom I know so well, I remember exactly what their rooster tail looked like in the school picture in 3rd grade, or the purse they were carrying when the Challenger space shuttle blew up in 1986.  We've sneaked off to concerts together in Rome and been lost in the rain in Florence.  We cried together on the last day of high school.  We survived missions and college and dating and bottle rockets.  Some of these friends, of course, were brought into the fold through marriage, and yet I feel as bonded to them as if they had been there the whole time.

These are my people.  And Friday, I needed my people.  I looked around at these friends and just felt totally at peace.  We all made it!  We're old enough that we don't care what people think, and young enough that the conversation isn't yet all about our health problems.  We've arrived!  These people are beautiful in every way, and if they weren't, I'd never know it because I love them so much.  Thanks for hosting, Scheullers.  It was perfect.